


take me to the finish line

by trashgoblinwizardparty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (and back to enemies again), (but he's 18 so it's whatever), (for now) - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Choking, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Professor Tom Riddle, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, but not like sexy choking, canon divergence during HBP, completely platonic choking, draco is surprisingly perceptive but still an arse, established Hinny, forget harry draco's new nemesis is now stairs, ginny has a foul mouth and a dirty mind, in-universe alternate universes, liberties taken with real-life historical personages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashgoblinwizardparty/pseuds/trashgoblinwizardparty
Summary: Draco Malfoy is doomed.Harry Potter wants to impress his girlfriend.Ginny Weasley just wants to know where the D.A. headquarters went.The Room of Requirement hides many secrets.
Relationships: (IMPLIED), (implied/mentioned), Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle, Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Tom Riddle/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Tom Riddle/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 50





	1. Out of the frying pan...

**Author's Note:**

> hey yeah so here i go posting yet another WIP! will i ever learn? (no.) 
> 
> Anyway! this particular story is the first one i started writing for this fandom but i've been sitting on it for close to two years, for a few reasons (most of which are silly). 
> 
> and uh. *points at the ship tags* the endgame ship is, in fact, tom/draco/harry/ginny. there will be polyamory and feelings, both good and bad. things go bad before they get better. 
> 
> this is gonna be a long one.

Draco Malfoy was doomed.

He slumped, exhausted and defeated, against the splintery wood of the broken Vanishing Cabinet. He slid down until he was sitting, the rough surface of the cabinet rucking up his perfect robes, but Draco couldn’t find it in himself to care. He fought back the urge to give into weakness and cry. 

Draco had tried every repair spell he could think of, or had read about, and even a few he’d invented on the spot in desperation, each one less effective than the last. A new copy of “1001 Household Spells and Charms” was currently a smoking lump of charcoal near his feet. Only the knowledge that he’d have to come up with a completely different plan kept him from destroying the cabinet itself with a curse out of frustration. 

Draco was acutely aware of how quickly time was slipping away. It was already June, and yet he had no progress to report to the Dark Lord. And _his_ already tenuous patience was wearing thin. 

At the thought of _him,_ a phantom pain lanced through Draco’s left arm. He rolled up his sleeve to examine the Mark that he had been so proud to bear only a few short months ago. Back in September, when he still had hope. When he had still entertained grand ideas of pleasing the Dark Lord by flawlessly executing his plan. Hope that he could, by presenting Dumbledore’s head on a platter, single-handedly restore honor to his father and family.

Draco Malfoy was an idiot. 

A doomed idiot. 

But he also had too much stubborn pride to go crawling to Severus for help. This was _his_ task, and he would do it, or die trying. 

And it was very likely he would die trying. The thought turned the blood to ice in his veins. 

He let his head fall back against the rough grain of the cabinet with a thunk and took a deep breath. He was not going to panic yet. There was still a month left before the term ended. A lot could happen in a month. 

He allowed his gaze to wander over the piles of junk; his eye was caught by a gleam from the top of the pile directly in front of him. There sat a dusty, cracked hourglass filled with strange, glittering black sand. It looked a bit like the ones in the Great Hall that were used to keep track of house points, only on a much smaller scale, and covered all over with odd runes. The sand in it had run out long ago, a bitter reminder of his own time, now almost run out. 

Even the Room of Hidden Things seemed to be mocking him. 

_Happy fucking birthday Draco, your present is failure, disgrace, and probably a Crucio or two, followed by certain death._

He was just about to pull himself up and get back to his task when, across the room, he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening and voices carrying. Draco scrambled to his feet and pulled out his wand. Where was Crabbe? He was supposed to be on guard duty, but Draco was sure he hadn’t heard the signal. Silently he crept along, keeping low, counting on the mountains of rubbish to hide him from whoever it was that found this room. 

He cursed himself for not buying that Peruvian Instant Darkness powder at the older Weasleys’ stupid shop, and vowed that would be the first stop he made, next time. 

Provided there _was_ a next time.

He drew closer to the intruders, their voices growing more distinct as he neared. It was times like this Draco wished he’d practiced Disillusionment Charms more, or had an invisibility cloak like Potter did. 

Speaking of Potter…

Luck truly wasn’t on Draco’s side today, because one of the intruders was none other than Dumbledore’s golden boy himself. He’d recognize that obnoxious, nasally voice anywhere. Draco swore under his breath, vividly remembering the last time he had a run-in with the so-called “Boy-Who-Lived”. He still had the scars. _Of course_ it had to be Potter. And he wasn’t alone. Draco chanced a quick peek between two towering piles of broken things. 

Long red hair. Girl-Weasley. 

Draco rolled his eyes and felt his mouth curl into a sneer. If they had come in here for a snogging session he swore to Merlin he would curse the both of them into oblivion. 

But no, they seemed to be…arguing? Intrigued despite himself, Draco edged closer.

He inched as near as he dared until he was able to see both Potter and She-Weasley from behind the bars of a cage containing some strange, unfortunate animal skeleton. 

“Dean was only offering to help me with the Dreamless Draught because it comes up in O.W.L.s,” Weasley was saying. 

“But why Dean? I could help you with it! Dean isn’t even taking Potions this year,” Potter whined. 

“I think he only offered to do it to make up for all the arguments we had,” Weasley said. Then she came to a halt. “Why isn’t this the D.A. headquarters?” she asked, looking around, wide-eyed, at the towering piles of junk. 

Draco ducked his head a bit, making sure he couldn’t be spotted. 

“There’s something in here that can help you with potions better than _Dean_ can. I just need to remember where I stashed it—” Potter was saying.

“Harry, you _do_ know that Dean and I are very much over, right? Permanently over. You have nothing to worry about,” Weasley said. 

“I know, I know, I was just—” Potter began.

“—Jealous?” Weasley cut in. From Draco’s vantage point he could see she looked somewhat pleased at the idea. Draco, however, had to suppress a gag. 

“Didn’t realize you were the jealous type,” she continued, with a truly nauseating smirk. 

“I’m not!” Potter protested, clearly lying. 

“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” Weasley said again, draping her arms around Potter’s neck —and now Draco was genuinely afraid he’d be sick all over himself— “Because apparently I was Dean’s ‘last stab at heterosexuality.’ And if you think _you_ were jealous, you should’ve seen how Seamus was glaring daggers at _me_ when Dean offered to help me.” 

Potter grinned and leaned into Weasley’s embrace, “That’s good to kn—wait, what?” He suddenly pulled out of Weasley’s arms, shocked. “ _Dean_ and _Seamus_? Are…are a. Thing? For how long?” Potter looked flabbergasted. 

Draco rolled his eyes and wondered if he could risk sneaking to the door without the disgusting Gryffindor lovebirds noticing. 

“About two weeks.”

“Two weeks? I had no idea!”

“Honestly Harry, you share a dormitory with them,” Weasley said, both delicate eyebrows raised in disbelief. “How could you not know?”

Potter didn’t seem to have an answer to that. 

But then he grinned down at her. “I’ve been a bit distracted lately,” he said, tracing a hand along Weasley’s jaw, and moving in for a kiss. Draco decided he needed to leave right now, immediately. Stealth be damned. 

Fortune was most definitely not with Draco Malfoy today, because in the process of shifting to escape from his hiding place, he accidentally knocked into the cage, causing it to tumble from its precarious position and land with a clang of metal and dry rattle of brittle bones. 

Potter and Weasley whipped towards the sound, and, faster than Draco could blink, had their wands out. Draco had to move quick to dodge a nasty-looking hex flung from Weasley. 

He hit the ground, rolling behind another pile of refuse as a jet of red light missed his head by inches.

“Malfoy!” Potter shouted. 

“Potter!” Draco shouted back, dodging behind a large, broken statue and firing off a curse of his own at Potter, who blocked it easily. 

“Why were you spying on us!?” Weasley raged, flinging another hex at him. 

“Like I’d bother spying on _you,_ ” Draco yelled back, fully aware that he’d been doing just that. He needed to get out of here. 

Unfortunately, an entire labyrinth of rubbish and two irate Gryffindors were between him and the only exit. 

Draco sent a jinx careening into one of the piles, causing it to topple over, forcing Potter and Weasley to shield themselves from the rain of debris. 

Truthfully, he’d been itching for a chance to get Potter back for what had happened in the bathroom, but not like this. Two against one were not odds he liked when they weren’t in his favor, and Weasley had a reputation for being vicious in a duel. 

He’d absolutely take Potter on if it were one-on-one. Or would take both of them if he had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up. A vague plan started forming in his mind, if he could just get to the exit, he could find his friends and the three of them would be more than a match for Potter and Weasley. 

He doubled back the way he came, heading towards the Vanishing Cabinet. With any luck he’d lose Potter and Weasley in the maze, and could make his escape. Several months spent in this room had left him well-acquainted with the layout of the place. 

He heard pounding footsteps not far from him, and he ducked into another aisle. A curse narrowly missed him, singeing the hem of his robes as he rounded the corner.

“What have you been doing in here all year!?” Potter yelled, his voice was somewhat muffled from behind the wall of detritus. 

“None of your business, Potter!” Draco yelled over his shoulder, not even slowing down. 

He turned a corner and the hot sizzle of a spell smashed into a pile right in front of him, shattering several bottles of what smelled like cooking sherry. Draco stopped short, swearing under his breath. Weasley and Potter had apparently split up, and were closing in on him from both sides. 

“Malfoy!”

Draco spun around, and Potter appeared, wand leveled at him, stalking towards Draco like a lion towards prey. Draco chanced a glance over his shoulder. Weasley was closing in on him too, eyes hard and red hair crackling with ambient magic. He wasn’t about to fight both of them at once, but Draco had no intention of being prey, either. 

In one last, desperate move, he cast a wordless repulsion charm against the floor, and used that as leverage to catapult himself over the wall of junk. He landed hard and gracelessly on the other side, his legs crumpling beneath him as his shoulder impacted against the floor.

He clearly hadn’t thought this through. 

Dimly, he heard Potter and Weasley’s muffled shouts of surprise from the other side of the wall. 

He wrenched himself to his feet, wincing as a sharp spike of pain shot through his right ankle, but he managed a limping run anyway. He cursed his own stupidity. There was no way he could outrun them now. He needed somewhere to hide, see if he could cast a healing charm on his ankle. Draco looked wildly around, searching for a hiding place. 

His eyes alighted on the Vanishing Cabinet. 

There was a possibility he’d get stuck between this one and the one in Borgin and Burkes. 

Well, he was desperate, wasn’t he? 

His shoulder ached, and his right ankle was not stable enough to support his weight for long. 

Draco made a mad, unsteady dash towards the cabinet. 

But then Potter was there (how did he get there so fast?) between him and the cabinet. Potter flashed him a grin, and had the sheer audacity to _wink_ at him, of all things. Before Draco could even try to figure out what _that_ meant, Potter flicked his wand in the air. A shimmering golden fog issued from the tip, billowing out around them, and enveloping Draco in a disorienting mist. Suddenly up was down, and down was up. Draco had the unsettling sensation of gravity reversing itself. He froze in place, absolutely sure he’d fall into the ceiling if he moved. 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and summoned a wind to blow away the golden fog. 

There was a loud crash from behind him. Weasley must have used a _Reducto Curse_ to topple one of the piles. 

He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. In the confusion, he must have got turned around, because Potter was no longer in front of him. 

“What have you been doing in here all year, Malfoy?” came Potter’s voice from behind him. 

Draco spun on his heel and flung a curse at the same time. The curse never reached its target, however. Potter stood, resolute, his wand once more leveled at Draco’s chest, a _Protego Charm_ shimmering between them. 

Draco felt his lips curl into a sneer. “Like I’d tell you.” 

Draco had his own wand trained on Potter, for all the good it would do against a shield charm that strong. 

Potter walked forward, his shield charm advancing with him. Draco was grudgingly impressed with Potter’s control over it. 

“Did Voldemort give you some kind of special mission?” Potter prompted, and Draco’s blood ran cold at the mention of the Dark Lord.

“Don’t say his name!” Draco hissed; his voice cracked embarrassingly, unable to keep the panic from edging into it. 

“Voldemort,” Potter repeated, because he’s an idiot. 

Another deafening crash sounded behind Draco, and he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. There was Weasley, she’d toppled a whole section of wall, cutting off the path from that direction. She, too, had a strong shield up, and was closing in on him from behind. 

They had him cornered. 

Potter’s shield was strong, but Draco could see the shimmering edge of it where it ended just above Potter’s feet. Draco saw the opening and took it. 

Quick as lightning, he shot a curse at Potter’s unprotected feet. Potter was knocked backwards; his shield dissipated. Draco ducked low at the same moment, throwing himself to the side to avoid the inevitable curse from Weasley, which crashed harmlessly into the floor. He darted towards the Vanishing Cabinet, at the same time sending a bright flash of a blinding hex at Weasley. He swore under his breath as every step sent a spike of pain shooting through his ankle. 

He slid to a stop in front of the cabinet, fingers scrabbling at the door when a stream of blue light hit the side of it. Draco was sent flying backwards as the cabinet exploded in a shower of splinters.

Draco landed hard on his backside, and watched in horror as several months of careful planning—and the last hope he had to save his family—were ruined by a single curse.

Draco had never really understood the phrase ‘to see red’ before, but he understood it now. 

He turned his head to Potter, who still had his wand up. 

Draco hauled himself to his feet. He didn’t know what expression he was making, but if the look on Potter’s face was any indication it must be something fearsome. Potter seemed to realize his mistake in destroying the Vanishing Cabinet, but Draco was beyond caring. 

The _‘Crucio_ ’ was hovering on his lips, but just before he could cast, he was hit with a jet of red light.

Draco watched, numb, as his wand soared in a graceful arc directly to Weasley’s outstretched hand.

“What have you been—” but Potter’s question was cut short by Draco’s wordless scream of rage. All rational thought fled, and before he even knew what he was doing, Draco had bodily tackled Potter into a pile of junk. 

He straddled Potter’s hips, his left knee pinning Potter’s wand hand down. His fingers closed around Potter’s throat, tight and unyielding, all the pent-up terror and frustration of the last few months boiling to the surface and fueling his rage.

This is what Potter did to him, making him resort to brawling in the rubbish with his hands like a filthy muggle. 

Draco’s hair fell into his eyes, his robes were singed, and he hurt all over. And the only coherent thought he had was to do the same to Potter. If he couldn’t present the Dark Lord with Dumbledore’s corpse, maybe Potter’s would do instead. 

Dimly, he was aware of Weasley’s ineffectual attempts at prying Draco’s hands off Potter’s throat. The idiot girl had two wands and she wasn’t even using one. 

Potter’s face had gone from red to purple when Draco felt a surprisingly strong arm snake around his own neck. Weasley had gotten behind him, and was using one arm as leverage against the other to cut off his air supply. 

He could see out of the corner of his eye that she still had both wands in her grasp; they were shooting off sparks. Weasley seemed to be shouting, or maybe swearing, but Draco couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears. 

Weasley was flush against his back now, and shifted her weight backwards. Draco’s vision started going dark, shot through with sparks of rogue magic from the wands.

One of those jets of wild magic hit the hourglass Draco had noticed earlier, which happened to be on the pile right above their heads. 

The Malfoy line had never produced a Seer before, but in that moment, Draco, with absolute perfect clarity, knew down to the marrow in his very bones that something catastrophic was about to occur. Dread quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before slithered into his belly at the sight of a stray spell hitting that hourglass. 

The hourglass toppled, almost in slow motion, the black sand within glittered and shifted as it fell end over end. 

Potter and Weasley must have had the same sense of foreboding as he did, because they too had stopped moving and were looking up. The three of them watched, frozen, as the hourglass descended upon them. The glass had cracked even more, shining with a silvery light like spider webs across the surface. Beams of light speared out from each crack. It was as if time itself had slowed down, every motion they made sluggish and heavy, like being underwater. Draco could only close his eyes and brace for impact.

There was a sound, like the chiming of a great bell, and a light so bright Draco could see it through his squeezed-shut eyelids.

He never felt it hit, but there was the most curious sensation of something hook-like tugging at his soul.

_Like a portkey_ was Draco’s last thought, before darkness closed in around him. 

And then he knew no more.

  
  



	2. ...and into the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 of this ridiculous nonsense

Harry floated in infinite space. Planets orbited his head on the periphery of his vision and stars blossomed to life and died within the eternal span of one breath.

Before him there was a light, simultaneously further away than the length of the universe and yet close enough he felt he could reach out and touch it. It shone brighter and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen before in his life, and it called to him with a melody sweeter than a summer’s day. But before he could even think to try and get to it, before he could even do so much as move a muscle, something grabbed his insides just behind the navel and yanked, pulling him down into a great, dark abyss.

His scream was swallowed by inky blackness.

* * *

The first thing Harry became aware of was the presence of something hard and uncomfortable digging into his back. Several somethings as a matter of fact, and the horrible, claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in some small, dark place. For one confused moment, he thought he was back at number 4 Privet Drive, in the cupboard under the stairs, and that the last six years had been a fever dream. 

He cracked an eyelid open cautiously. 

Darkness greeted him. He blinked his eyes and waited for them to adjust. Pinpricks of light winked at him, seeming both far away and very close. Strange, gently-bobbing spheres spun in slow circles just in front of his face, just like they had in his dream… 

Harry blinked again, and when he shifted his arm to try and straighten his (miraculously unbroken) glasses, he dislodged an off-key singing parchment and several round things that he recognized as Gobstones by the smell. 

He was buried under a pile of junk. 

An old trunk of some sort was on top of him; the lid had come open and it had landed in such a way that he was mostly inside it. The pinpricks of light and floating spheres resolved themselves into stars and planets; the trunk evidently housed a working model of the galaxy, which is where he supposed the stars and planets in his dream came from. 

Harry lay there in a pile of the forgotten contraband of generations of Hogwarts students and fought down the urge to laugh hysterically. 

The Boy-Who-Lived, indeed. 

There should only be so many times someone can have a near-death experience in their lifetime and since coming to Hogwarts, he must’ve fulfilled his quota ten times over. 

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He didn’t seem to be injured badly. He was a bit sore, though the worst of the pain was centered around his throat. 

Memories of the last few moments before he’d lost consciousness filtered in. He and Ginny had been in the Room of Requirement, except it wasn’t the D.A. headquarters, it was the room full of junk where he’d stashed the Prince’s book. He’d been thinking of finding the book to help Ginny with her potion (and generally impress her with his knowledge) so she wouldn’t have to get help from  _ Dean _ . They’d discovered Malfoy. They and Malfoy had dueled. Malfoy had tackled him bodily into one of the piles, with his hands around Harry’s throat. Ginny had tried to pry Malfoy off. Then something…something fell on them. There had been some kind of explosion: light so bright it drowned everything else out, followed by a dark so profound Harry thought he’d been struck blind. 

_ Ginny _ . 

Harry sat up suddenly and cracked his head on one of the planets still bouncing gently around the interior of the trunk. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. 

He wormed his way out from under the trunk, batting stray planets out of his face. 

“Ginny!” It came out a croak; his throat still sore from where Malfoy had tried to strangle him. 

Finally, after much wriggling, he worked his way free, and surveyed the damage. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Where before there was a maze-like arrangement of forgotten things—which, while it couldn’t have been called orderly, at least had pathways—there was now only an undulating wasteland of broken debris. The epicenter of the destruction was right where he was standing. 

There was a moan from somewhere to his right.

“Ginny?” 

No response.

As quickly as he dared, he made his way down the junk heap, sliding and stumbling the whole while. 

“Ginny!” he called again.

He climbed atop another mound to see a pale hand poking out from under what looked like a (now ruined) landscape painting. Harry waded over to it.

By some miracle, he still had his wand. He muttered a “ _ Wingardium Leviosa _ ” at the painting and lifted it off.

Underneath was Malfoy.

Harry was sorely tempted to drop the painting back on top of him, especially considering he was still having a difficult time breathing. But Harry was, at heart, a good person, or at the very least, a not-terrible person, so he settled for giving Malfoy’s arm a none-too-gentle yank, and pulled the other boy to his feet. 

Malfoy looked dazed, but when he realized who had pulled him up, his face twisted into its habitual sneer. 

“Anything broken?” Harry asked, graciously. “Other than your pride, of course,” he couldn’t resist adding. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy spat.

“No thanks,” Harry replied, already looking around for any sign of Ginny. 

“Ginny!” he called. 

He was not going to panic. He started shifting through the debris, his heart in his throat.  _ She can’t be dead, she can’t be dead, she can’t _ .

Malfoy stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking as if he were trying to make up his mind about something. 

“Well, I’m going to the Hospital Wing,” Malfoy announced, finally. “Been a pleasure, as always, Potter.”

“Right,” Harry said. 

He suddenly found he didn’t care about what Malfoy had been up to in here. It didn’t seem important anymore. 

Malfoy stood there for a moment longer, before stalking off in the direction of the door. Though perhaps “staggered” would be a better word for it, unsteady as he was on the uneven terrain. 

Harry didn’t try to stop him, or even pay him any mind, too concerned with looking for Ginny.

But then, all of a sudden: “Shit.”

Harry glanced over to where Malfoy had stopped on top of a large mound. Malfoy was staring accusingly at him. “Your she-weasel of a girlfriend had my wand.”

That’s right, Harry thought, Ginny had disarmed Malfoy before…whatever it was that had happened. 

“Guess you’d better help me look for her, then,” Harry said evenly. 

“How am I supposed to do that without a wand?”

“Use your hands.”

Malfoy looked at him as if Harry had just told him to kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt, with tongue. 

“You didn’t seem to have a problem using your hands earlier,” Harry reminded him, pointedly gesturing to his own neck, which was no doubt going to have some interesting bruises later. 

Malfoy opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say became a strangled shout as the mound he was standing on abruptly shifted, causing him to topple out of sight. Through the gaps in the debris, Harry could see something shimmering. It looked a bit like…

“Found her,” Malfoy muttered from the other side of the pile. 

Harry scrambled over to the mound, and cleared away the debris with several agitated waves of his wand, revealing a peculiarly thick-looking shield charm. At the center was Ginny, curled up with her arms crossed protectively over her head, both her and Malfoy’s wands clutched tightly in her fist. She’d evidently cast a double-strength shield by using two wands at once, creating a protective bubble around herself. Harry was so relieved he could have jumped for joy.

Instead, he continued to clear away the rubble, vaguely aware that on the other side, Malfoy was doing the same.  _ Using his hands like a Muggle, _ Harry thought, viciously. 

“Ginny!” Harry shouted. Once the shield was completely uncovered, he reached towards it, only to have his hand rebound off the surface. “Fuck.”

Inside the bubble, Ginny stirred. 

“Come on Weasley, wake up! You have something of mine and I need it back!” Malfoy yelled. 

“Mmmmnnn fuck you, Malfoy…” Ginny mumbled. She sounded as if she were underwater, muffled as she was by two  _ Protego Charms. _

“Ginny! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Harry asked.

“Shit!” Ginny said, sitting up abruptly. “Harry? What happened?”

“Malfoy happened,” Harry said. 

“Uh, no Potter, I do believe Weasley shot first,” Malfoy said, placing his hand to his chest, “I’m the victim, here.” 

“If you hadn’t been spying on us in the first place—” Harry began.

“I wasn’t  _ spying _ on you!” Malfoy sneered. “Don’t you think I have better things to do than watch some disgusting Gryffindor snogfest?” 

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. 

“Then what  _ were _ you doing in here?” Harry asked. 

“Still none of your business!” Malfoy retorted. And then, bitterly, “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ginny asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Malfoy threw his arms wide, gesturing at the destruction surrounding them, “What do you think it means?” 

There was a moment where no one said anything. The only sound was the shifting of rubbish as it settled. Somewhere on the other side of the room, something metallic fell with a faint clang. 

Malfoy made a noise that sounded a bit like hiccup. And then another. Harry realized with growing alarm that the odd noises were _ laughter _ . But it was a strange, panicky laugh that held no trace of mirth. Only terror. 

“I’m completely fucked,” Malfoy said, conversationally. He was still making that horrible parody of laughter. 

Ginny and Harry exchanged another, more concerned look. Malfoy had obviously gone completely mental. 

Ginny dismissed the shield charm, and got to her feet. 

“Alright, how about a temporary truce?” she said, “No more trying to hex each other today. We’ll all just go our separate ways and pretend none of this happened, yeah?”

“Pretend none of this happened? Easy for  _ you  _ to say,” Malfoy snarled. He made a grab for his wand, but Ginny pulled it out of his reach.

“I mean, I suppose we  _ could  _ keep dueling,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “Might be kind of difficult for you without a wand, though.”

Malfoy glared at her for several tense moments, but then all at once the fight seemed to go out of him. “Fine,” he said. 

Wordlessly, Ginny held out Malfoy’s wand, and he snatched it back quickly, as if afraid it was a trap. 

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, see you around, then.” He pointed his own wand at Malfoy, who began to do an ungainly shuffle backwards through the rubble towards the door, sneering all the while. Ginny had her wand on him, too. 

They watched as Malfoy awkwardly made his way to the exit, never once turning his back to them. Only after he’d slipped out the door did Harry and Ginny lower their wands. They may have called a temporary truce, but that didn’t mean Harry trusted Malfoy to keep to it. Ginny obviously felt the same. 

As soon as the door shut, they both let out a breath. Harry felt the tension melt away, leaving him giddy with the relief of surviving yet another dangerous situation. 

There were several moments where neither of them spoke.

“So,” Harry said, breaking the silence at last. “Dean and Seamus, huh?”

Ginny gave him an incredulous look and promptly burst into laughter. Which in turn set Harry off, until they were both clutching each other and laughing so hard that tears streamed down their faces and they were gasping for air.

Only after they’d both caught their breath, did Harry really take a good look at the destruction surrounding them. The Prince’s book was probably gone forever, now. Harry felt rather like he’d lost a friend. 

“I think we should get out of here,” Ginny said. 

Harry agreed. 

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t need the Hospital Wing?” Harry asked, for probably the fourth time since they left the seventh-floor corridor. 

Ginny waved her hand through the air. “I’m perfectly fine! Not even a scratch.” 

They were on their way back to the common room after Harry had hypocritically refused to go to see Madam Pomfrey for his own injuries. “She’d ask too many questions,” he had said, settling instead for a minor concealment charm on his throat to cover the bruising. He was a little sore, but otherwise unharmed, and didn’t see the need to be fussed over. 

Well, not by  _ Madam Pomfrey _ , anyway. He’d welcome a bit of fussing from Ginny, if he were being honest, but she seemed to be of the ‘just walk it off’ mindset, unfortunately.

“That was a brilliant move, by the way,” Harry said. “Putting Malfoy in a headlock.” 

“Having six older brothers has its advantages,” Ginny said, a smug grin spreading across her face. “I learned how to fight every single one of them. I know all the weaknesses of the human body.” 

That surprised a laugh out of Harry. “Hot,” he said. 

Ginny’s smile softened. “And...I didn’t want to risk casting a spell on him and hitting you instead,” she admitted, threading her fingers through Harry’s. 

It was amazing how just a simple touch from Ginny’s hand set the butterflies off in his chest. 

They walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower, too wrapped up in each other to even notice the corridors were suspiciously empty. 

When they reached the portrait, the Fat Lady seemed to be napping. Ginny and Harry exchanged a puzzled look. It was only early afternoon. In all of Harry’s years at Hogwarts, he’d never known the Fat Lady to sleep during the day. 

“Er…” Harry began. He realized he didn’t know how to address her other than “Fat Lady” and that seemed like a bit of a rude thing to call someone.

“Harry…” Ginny said, slowly, really taking a good look around them. “Have you seen anyone else since we left the Room of Requirement?” 

“Uh… No..?”

“That’s a bit strange, don’t you think? There should be more people about.”

She was right, Harry realized. Now that he thought about it, they  _ hadn’t _ seen another soul since their fight with Malfoy. 

A sense of foreboding slithered, snake-like, through Harry’s stomach, and he fought down the sick feeling of unease. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said to the Fat Lady’s portrait. 

She continued to snore.

“Excuse me!” he said again, louder this time. 

But the Fat Lady only mumbled and shifted a bit. 

Harry took a deep breath. “Wake UP!” he shouted. 

The Fat Lady came awake with a startled snort. “Alright, alright, you don’t have to yell,” she grumbled, wiping the sleep from her eyes. 

“ _ Quid Agis _ ,” Harry told her. 

The Fat Lady squinted at him. “Wrong.” 

“What? How can it be wrong? That’s what it was this morning!” Harry said. The dread in his stomach grew with every passing moment.

“I am quite sure that that’s not the password, and it definitely wasn’t the password this morning,” the Fat Lady said, affronted. 

Harry exchanged a startled look with Ginny. 

But the Fat Lady was now eyeing them with suspicion. “Who are you two, anyway? I don’t recognize you.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t recognize us? We’ve only been coming and going from the Gryffindor common room almost every day for the past several years!” Harry said, unable to hide the edge of panic creeping into his voice. 

“I remember every student that comes through this passageway, and I don’t recall ever seeing either of you,” the Fat Lady said, firmly. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” Ginny asked. “Did Malfoy put you up to it?” 

“I can assure you it’s no joke. No one’s ‘put me up to’ anything!” the Fat Lady said, indignant. “And even if I don’t remember you, there’s no reason any student should still be here, as term ended a week ago!” 

Harry had the curious sensation that the ground was falling away beneath his feet. He reached out to grasp Ginny’s shoulder to steady himself. It felt as if a vice were constricting his lungs, cutting off his breath. He was vaguely aware of Ginny clutching at his arm, she was saying something, but everything sounded so far away, as if all noise had receded into the distance.

If what the Fat Lady said was true, then it was July. Harry, Ginny, and Malfoy had been knocked out in the Room of Requirement for a month. 


	3. Weird Time Stuff, Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that's all there is for now! i have uhhh at least 3 more finished chapters and 2 more unfinished chapters and bits and pieces here and there. 
> 
> so with any luck, the next update will be soonish?

“Why in Merlin’s name does this castle have to have so many _ fucking _ stairs,” Draco muttered under his breath. 

He limped down the staircase to the dungeons, headed for the Slytherin common room. 

A horrible suspicion had been growing at the back of his mind since he’d gone to the Hospital Wing only to find Madam Pomfrey wasn’t there. 

Draco hadn’t noticed anything amiss until after he’d reached the Hospital Wing, too wrapped up in his own injured pride and despair. His physical injuries he’d inexpertly tried healing himself, but truth be told, he was rubbish at healing magic. His ankle seemed to hurt slightly less now, and it was at least stable enough to walk on, which Draco was thankful for. But now, as he made his way to the Slytherin common room, it was painfully obvious that no one else was around. 

There had been no students in the corridors or the classrooms. No professors. He hadn’t seen another person at all. 

The castle appeared to be deserted. 

Finally, he reached the corridor leading to the common room. Draco had never been so grateful to see a blank stretch of wall in all his life. He marched up with all the confidence he could muster and said the password. 

The hidden door didn’t open. 

Draco snarled, too sore and tired to deal with this.

“ _ Adder’s tongue _ ,” he tried again. 

The wall remained stubbornly in place. 

Draco let out a growl of frustration and smacked the wall with his hand, but that only succeeded in adding additional injury to insult. He turned around and leaned against the wall which hid the passageway, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. He was  _ not _ going to cry, because that wouldn’t solve anything. He was, however, going to sit there and wallow in self-pity for a minute. He felt like he’d earned that, at least. 

He took the opportunity to cast another healing charm on his ankle. This one seemed to be more effective than the last one. Small favors. 

Draco sat there for several long moments, sorting over possibilities in his mind. 

Option one: everyone could be outside. Perhaps there was even a Quidditch match going on. 

But that would not explain why the password no longer worked. 

Option two: this could be some kind of practical joke.

Draco dismissed that thought immediately. There was no way his fellow Slytherins would take part in a prank against one of their own.  _ Especially  _ not him. 

Option three: he, Potter, and Weasley had been unconscious long enough for term to end. But since he still had all his injuries, and clearly as none of them had starved or died of thirst in the intervening month, this possibility didn’t seem as likely. 

Option four: time travel.

Draco distinctly recalled that strange-looking hourglass thing falling on them right before all that terrible light and darkness. It hadn’t really looked all that much like a normal time-turner, aside from being an hourglass, but having been knocked to another point in time might explain the current empty state of the castle. From what Draco had seen through the windows, it must be summer. 

He didn’t know that much about time magic, other than it was tricky and dangerous, and best left to the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries. 

Draco traced a fingernail over a crack in one of the flagstones on the floor, thinking. 

All signs pointed to some time-related curse having literally fallen upon them in the Room of Hidden Things. He only hoped it hadn’t sent him too far either in the future or the past. 

He remained against the wall for another moment, deciding his next move.

First things first, he had to find out what day it was (and what month, what year…Draco resolutely pushed those thoughts aside for now).

He got to his feet with some difficulty, as he’d gone all stiff sitting on the floor against the cold stone wall. 

If his suspicion was correct, and it really was summer…his mother and father must be worried sick. Did they try to find him? And what about the Dark Lord? Did  _ he _ think Draco had run off, after failing his task? 

That stopped him cold. 

If the Dark Lord thought he’d deserted, then his parents were in danger, or even already—but he pushed that thought away too. There was no point in worrying about that until he knew  _ when  _ he was. It was just as likely he’d gone backwards in time as it was that he’d gone forward. 

This could even work out in his favor, if he’d gone backwards. He would have more time to accomplish his mission. 

With that thought in mind, he decisively made his way down the corridor. The castle may not have any people in it, but humans weren’t the only beings here. 

* * *

The location of the kitchens and how to get in were an open secret among Hogwarts students. He never bothered to go there himself, but had sent Crabbe and Goyle after snacks on several occasions. 

He knew Hogwarts employed house elves. What he was not prepared for was how _ many _ there were. So many horrid, pointy-eared, bald-headed creatures all bowing and scraping and wanting to cater to his every whim. Draco’s lip curled in disgust at having to even be in their presence for more than five minutes. 

They ecstatically plied him with all manner of food and drink from treacle tart and pumpkin juice to cream cakes and fresh fruit; even offering to put together a roast dinner with potatoes and carrots with a side of red wine. 

“Enough of this,” Draco said, setting the fifth treacle tart he’d been handed on the work table with the other four, plus three goblets of pumpkin juice, a collection of biscuits, a plate of cut pineapple, and an entire strawberry torte. 

“All I need is a copy of today’s newspaper. Make sure it’s  _ today’s _ ,” he commanded. 

At once, four elves gave a sort of odd salute and disapparated with identical cracks. 

“Is Master sure he is not wanting any more pumpkin juice?” one of the wretched creatures squeaked, thrusting yet another goblet at him. 

“No,” Draco said, pushing the goblet back at it. 

“We haven’t had anyone to cook for other than the Caretaker in a month!” another one chirped. 

“I don’t care,” Draco told it. 

He paced back and forth by the table for several minutes, trying to calm his breathing as he waited for those house elves to return. The rest of them, instead of going about their business and leaving him alone, followed his movements like baby ducklings after their mother. The comparison would’ve been funny, had it been happening to anyone else. 

Just then, four cracks of Apparation sounded in quick succession. 

“Finally,” Draco muttered, pausing in his pacing and holding his hand out imperiously. 

The four elves clambered all over each other, each trying to be the first to hand him its paper. The predictable result was a pile of tangled house elf limbs and apologetic squawking. Draco rolled his eyes, and strode over to them, snatching at one of the papers clasped in a hand that was sticking up from the pile. 

He didn’t even get as far as looking for the date, because the large, front page-dominating headline he saw made him feel, for the second time today ( _ today? _ ) as if the world had dropped away from beneath his feet. 

Draco barely registered his knees giving out, nor the fact that one of the house elves had quickly shoved a chair beneath him as he collapsed. His chest constricted with panic and disbelief at what he saw. 

He was right about one thing, at least. It was definitely summer. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The sun shone through the windows, the sky outside was a hot, deep blue punctuated with puffs of fluffy, white clouds. The barest hazy, green-grey hint of the treetops of the Forbidden Forest could be seen from their position on the seventh floor. The entire scene outside was absurdly peaceful, which contrasted sharply with the inner turmoil raging in Ginny’s mind. 

_ A month. _

Ginny had came out of her shock first. Harry was still standing there looking like he’d been petrified. 

“Come on, we need to owl my mum and dad,” Ginny said, tugging on Harry’s arm. 

“Right...yeah...” Harry said, absently.

Another tug had him stumbling along obediently behind her. She lead the way down the corridor in the direction of the owlery. Ginny was really and truly hoping there were still owls there. If not, well, they’d just have to go to the post station in Hogsmeade, she reasoned. Not the worst thing that could happen. 

She tried very hard not to think about what Mum and Dad would say. They must be so worried right now. They were going to be  _ so relieved _ she and Harry were just fine. They were also going to be  _ so furious _ . She didn’t think Mum would accept ‘we were in a secret room and had a row with Malfoy and somehow were knocked out for a month’ as a viable excuse. Ginny resolutely pushed that thought away. One thing at a time. Send off an owl first, then panic. 

Ginny and Harry climbed the stairs to the owlery. The open windows of the tower let in the July swelter, and they were both rather warm and sweaty by the time they reached their destination. 

Just as Ginny had feared, there wasn’t a single owl inside. She fought down the urge to scream, recognizing it wouldn’t do any good. Instead, she took a deep breath, breathing in the musty and faintly owl-dropping-scented air, and counted backwards from ten, just as Bill had taught her, to calm down. 

Harry was still being unusually quiet, and it was starting to grate. 

“Right,” she said, decisively, “We are going to Hogsmeade to use the post owls there. Then, we’ll have a drink or five at the Three Broomsticks while we wait for my mother to kill us. Sound good?” 

Harry was gazing vacantly out the window.

“Harry?” 

Harry shook his head and seemed to focus on her at last, “Right...yeah,” he said, for the second time since the Fat Lady’s revelation. 

“Why did she not recognize us?” Harry mumbled. 

Ginny didn’t have an answer to that, and had been trying to not think of it, focusing instead on finding an owl. 

She sidled up to Harry and took his hand in hers, threading their fingers together. As she gazed into his green, green eyes, lurid thoughts of all the things they could get up to together in a  _ deserted castle they had all to themselves  _ flitted wildly through her mind. Ordinarily, this would be a fantasy come true, but now was not the time, she told herself firmly. 

She settled for a gentle squeeze of his hand, instead. Maybe another time. 

“Come on,” Ginny said, leading him out of the owlery.

  
  


* * *

Harry and Ginny made their way down towards the Great Hall, tentative plans to head to Hogsmeade and use the owl post there already made. 

Harry’s mind was reeling, stuck in a perpetual loop. Had Dumbledore located any more horcruxes? He and Ginny had inadvertently thwarted whatever Malfoy had been doing all year, so Harry supposed that counted for something. But now what? He knew the Dursleys wouldn’t miss him; they were probably toasting his disappearance, in fact. What was Voldemort doing? Was their missing month somehow Voldemort’s fault? He seemed to be behind nearly every terrible thing that has happened to Harry or his friends since before Harry was born. Had anyone else died? Did Voldemort know he’d been missing for a month? Did everyone assume Voldemort had killed him? What about Ron and Hermione? Being gone for a month was horrible enough, but why did the Fat Lady not recognize them?

Harry was abruptly wrenched from his racing thoughts when Ginny suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and shouted: “MORGANA’S TITS!” 

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around, wand at the ready, scanning for trouble. “What?”

The corridor was empty save for them. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. But Ginny had buried her face in her hands, causing what she said next to come out muffled. “I’ve missed my O.W.L.s. Mum really _ is _ going to kill me.”

Harry took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart. 

Ginny scrubbed her hands through her hair, and looked despairingly out the window at the gloriously sunny and undeniably summer day. “How hard would it be to fake our own deaths and run away to Italy? I’ve always wanted to see Italy,” she mumbled. 

“I think your mum is going to be more concerned that we’ve been missing for a month,” Harry said, pocketing his wand once more. 

“I am really, really trying to not think about that,” Ginny said. Then she favored him with a grin, “Maybe everyone assumes we’ve eloped,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. 

Heat rushed to Harry’s face at that. “This is serious!” he said, trying to will the blush away.

Ginny heaved a sigh, “I know, I know. Just trying to lighten the mood.” She started walking again, catching up to Harry, and slipped her hand into his. 

“Malfoy’s been gone just as long as we have,” Harry pointed out. 

Ginny made a disparaging noise, and waved her free hand dismissively. “No one in their right mind is going to think we eloped with  _ Malfoy _ .” 

Harry had to agree. 

They were halfway down the second floor corridor when they finally spotted a familiar face. 

Nearly-headless Nick had drifted aimlessly through the solid oak door of a classroom right in front of them. 

“Nick!” Harry called. “Nearly-headless Nick!”

The ghost paused in his floating and turned to look at them, his head wobbling dangerously on his overly large ruff, surprise evident on his translucent face. “Oh! Hello,” he said. 

“You’ve got to help us! Is there anyone else still here? Dumbledore?” Harry said. 

“I’m afraid everyone’s left for the summer already,” Nick said, puzzled, “I must say I’m surprised to see students still here. Shouldn’t you be at your homes?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Ginny said. “But we need to know...what day is it?” 

“It’s Tuesday, I believe,” Nick said. 

Ginny let out an exasperated sound and Harry said, “What day and month is it?” 

“Oh! It’s the tenth of July, as far as I’m aware. I’m afraid the passing of days seems less significant once you’re dead,” Nick said. 

“Right…” Harry said faintly, the confirmation felt like lead in his belly. “Thanks, Nick.”

“You know, I do prefer to be called ‘Sir—” Nick began.

“Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington,” Harry and Ginny finished for him, in unison. “We know,” Harry said. 

Nick was now giving them a strange look. “Terribly sorry, but have we met?” 

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances yet again. This whole situation was starting to get ridiculous. 

“Yes..? It’s us..?” Harry said. 

At Nick’s dubious expression, Harry clarified. “Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley? We’re in Gryffindor..? And have been for the past several years?” 

“Hmm…Potter…Potter…Yes, I do recall a Potter, but he graduated twenty years ago. As for Weasley, well…” Now the look Nick was giving Ginny was distinctly odd, and Harry felt another prickle of foreboding crawl up his spine. “The Weasleys have seven sons, the youngest of whom graduated a few years ago, but no daughter, as far as I’m aware. Though I must admit you do have the look of a Weasley.” 

Harry watched Ginny’s already pale face lose even more color, and even her freckles looked washed-out. 

Ginny turned to look at Harry, her lovely brown eyes full of confusion and fear. Harry wondered wildly if this were all some kind of elaborate joke. If Malfoy really had done something out of spite. He wondered, also, if ghosts and portraits could be Confounded. 

“W-we have to go, right now,” Ginny stammered. “Thank you, Nick.” She pulled at Harry’s hand, and Harry followed. 

They sped away from Nearly-headless Nick, who only gave them a confused “Well, good day, then,” which Harry barely registered. 

As if by some unspoken agreement, they both broke into a run, taking the last flight of stairs two at a time. They’d just reached the Entrance Hall when none other than Draco Malfoy appeared like a pale omen on the staircase leading from the kitchens. He was holding what looked like a copy of the Daily Prophet, and of all the inane details Harry could have noticed about him, that was what caused the feeling of dread which had nested in Harry’s gut since they’d left the Fat Lady’s portrait to hatch into a hundred writhing snakes of sheer panic. 

Harry and Ginny skidded to a halt in front of Malfoy, panting. Whatever squabbles they’d had in the past seemed so insignificant now, in the face of a shared crisis. 

“Malfoy!” Ginny said, gasping for breath, “It’s July! We’ve been in the Room of Requirement for a month!”

“It’s worse than that, Weasley,” Malfoy said, grimly. 

He held up the paper. It was indeed the Daily Prophet. 

But the large headline printed on the front, taking up more than half of the first page, was not one Harry would have ever, ever in his wildest imaginings, thought he’d see: 

**“DUMBLEDORE DEFEATS GRINDELWALD”**

  
  



End file.
